


Drive You Mad (wear me out)

by flashindie



Series: Warm in the Fire of Us [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Car Sex, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “I still don’t get why you need me to do that.”She says it quick enough, petulantly enough, that even Mick’s arching an eyebrow, and Rio feels his thigh jump a little in annoyance.“Ain’t it your area of expertise? Stealin’ shit?” he says sharply, and he can see it on the tip of her tongue, some other line about him being one to talk, about herbusiness, so he adds: “Shootin’ sure ain’t.”-S3 fic! Beth, Rio and Mick do a job, and everything goes to shit.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Warm in the Fire of Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052612
Comments: 66
Kudos: 420





	Drive You Mad (wear me out)

Weird thing is, the place smells like her.

He’d thought it the first time he’d stepped through the door, the counterfeit note uncurling like a promise in his pocket; the ugly-ass white curtains that looked straight outta his abuela’s house already drawn.

He can’t even really explain what the smell _is_ , wouldn’t know how to describe it if somebody asked – something a little too sweet, but it ain’t like perfume, ain’t like fresh baked cookies or pie or nothin’ neither, and it ain’t quite like a flower, not that he makes a habit of going around smelling the roses and whatnot, but he’s got sisters, and Rhea used to love getting them back when she used to love him.

Nah, it ain’t anything so easy to pin down – not that anything with Elizabeth ever has been. 

Back before - - well, just _before_ , he used to think maybe it was some lotion or shampoo or something. Didn’t smell like a flower because it must have been some flower imitation, essence of whatever, something smelled once by somebody for real and then broken down in a lab in an effort to recreate it. A bottled-up memory, some Frankenstein’d recreation of something that smelt good to somebody once.

Something not cheap, but _inexpensive_ , probably picked up at the drug store while she bought up toothpaste and diapers, toilet paper and aspirin, something slathered on her skin after her shower but before bed, something that’d she’d soak in overnight, but still - -

Something just on her skin.

Because the thing is, now he knows that ain’t it. Knows it, because she tastes like it too.

Fuck, knows exactly how deep inside her that taste _goes_.

Knows it starts on the inside, whatever it is.

Remembers it too-sweet on his tongue for days after she kicked him out of her bed.

And shit, it ain’t something he’s had any time recent, but still – the smell in the air don’t just hit his nose right now, it coats his teeth.

The fact of it all is enough to make him drum his fingers on the counter, right beside the cash registers, enough to make his jaw rock, impatient, as he watches Elizabeth help a customer pick out a card, her movements stiff since the moment she saw him walk in, and on anyone else that would feel like a win, but on her he knows it ain’t one. Ain’t fear or discomfort but anger, simmering just beneath her skin.

Enough of it apparently to make her take her time, draw it out, leave him waiting longer, and he’s of half a mind to go over and get her fussin’ and flusterin’, when the customer finally decides on which bit of folded cardboard she wants to go with the box of decorative plates in her hand and asks _and you gift wrap, right?_

And it’s almost impressive, how Elizabeth can cross the store swapping small talk with this twenty-something (who’s all fuckin’ pep and Invisalign braces), can feel his eyes on her, must know he’s practically draped across the counter, and not so much as glance at him.

“Do you think the gold wrapping paper is too much?” the girl trills. “I don’t want it to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“No such thing when it comes to presentation,” Elizabeth replies, and he knows her well enough to know her voice is a little tight, just because he knows what it sounds like when it ain’t, and he smiles at her, sharkish, as she rounds the counter, until all that’s left between them is the wooden frame of the thing.

She rings up the sale while the girl natters about somethin’ or other, the ancient little machine beneath them all choking out a receipt as Elizabeth starts grabbing together wrapping paper and ribbons of gauzy tulle and metallic bands that catch the light and blink gold. It’s tacky as fuck, but the thing is, he kinda likes watching her work with her hands. Likes it when she’s workin’ that printer, slicing his money, likes it when she’s fiddling and fussing and straightening things out, reminds him of them on his - -

Nuh.

Not that. 

He pushes his arm a little harder against the counter edge, not enough that she’ll notice, and sucks on his teeth, but shit, there’s that taste again, and he should look away, should stop watching her pale hands fumble with the handle of some big ass craft scissors, her narrow fingers small there – thinner than the blades, and just - - something in him twitches.

The customer’s cell pings, and it’s enough to make him glance over, just in time to see the girl quickly look away from him, and huh, he thinks, tilting his body away from Elizabeth and towards the girl instead. It’s almost too easy, to take her in, all frizzy, mouse-brown hair and bright green eyes, pink cheeks. She looks a little curious, a little embarrassed, and he softens out a grin, nodding his head towards the card in her hands.

“Birthday?” he guesses, and she blinks, surprised, before flushing a little.

“Engagement party,” she replies, and Rio taps his knuckles down on the counter, all _damn, so close,_ feeling something in him sharpen in satisfaction, when he feels Elizabeth’s gaze finally dart over to him.

“I don’t even want to go,” the girl adds, rolling her eyes in quasi amusement. “I just work with her, but the whole office is going, so it’s like, become this big deal.”

Rio hums in commiseration.

“Things we do for work, huh?”

And shit, ain’t that why he’s here tonight? Briefly, his thoughts tangle with the prospect of what he’s got to do, annoyance flaring with even the prospect of this fucking thing, but it’s stifled when the girl looks at him in surprise.

“Do you work here too?” she asks, voice all loaded up with curiosity, and Rio grins, swaying a little as Elizabeth turns on the spot to grab one of the ribbons behind her, spin back, make jerky, awkward work of tying the bow.

“Somethin’ like that.”

Behind him, the metallic _schink_ of the scissors on the ribbon sounds louder in his ear, the force of the cut harsher than it needs to be, and Rio grins before he can help it, just real fuckin’ delighted at the thought. Pissin’ her off - - it ain’t like anything else.

“Do I get to ask now?”

Rio blinks, pops an eyebrow as the girl flushes a little beneath the boldness of her own question, and it reminds him of Elizabeth way back when, blinking those bambi eyes of hers beneath the Cloud 9 store fluorescents. When that desperate edge to her hadn’t been quite so shadowed, and huh, he tilts back towards the girl, softens his smile, waves a hand out like _be my guest_.

She sways on the spot, pink in delight, bites her lip, and beside them, the wrapping paper crinkles roughly as Elizabeth’s pale hands tie bows.

“I’m going to go with owner, I think.”

Rio laughs, twisting his head to find Elizabeth staring at him, unimpressed, before he swings easily back to the girl.

“Got it in one, sweetheart.”

It’s enough to make her flush all over, pleased, and Elizabeth to pick up the pace on her gift wrapping, finally finishing it and thrusting it into a bag, passing it on over as the girl starts rambling about a prize, and she’s talkin’ to him, but he don’t really care anymore. Not now that Elizabeth’s rounding the counter and directing the girl to the exit.

She don’t wanna go, not right away. She lingers, staring at him, and he just keeps smiling wanly at her, nodding, and shit, it takes her forever to get the hint, finally scurrying out of the store. The door’s barely even closed before Elizabeth’s flipping the lock, the open sign to closed, and then she’s spinning abruptly to face him, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving.

“You can’t come here when we’re open,” she tells him, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, briefly amused, when she adds: “You draw attention.”

He curves sideways at that, further draping over the counter, drops his elbow to it, then his chin to his hand.

“Yeah? How you think I do that?”

And he can’t quite swallow the grin at the way she glares at him, striding over to that big table full of trinkets and shit in the middle of the store, and just starts fiddling in that way she does now. Like she needs something to do with her hands, and he lets her, moving a little forwards until he’s leaning back against the counter instead of beside it, eyeing her off. She ain’t dressed exactly how he wants her – in some dark wash mama jeans and some pale pink blouse, dotted with flowers. Boots with a short, thick heel.

A sweater woulda been better, but this’ll do in a pinch.

“The pulp’s drying,” she sniffs suddenly, eyes darting to him then away again. “So if you’re wanting - -”

But Rio just waves a hand at her.

“Nah, you gonna call your sister and your lady friend. They can finish that tonight. You and me got a job.”

It’s enough to make her pause. To make her look up at him, her eyes wide, then narrowed, and shit, it’s that smell again, curling at his nose. He swallows, looks briefly away, and when he looks back, Elizabeth’s still staring at him, this time with something different on her face too – and it takes him a moment to realise that she’d taken him looking away as a win. He pushes off the counter, steps forwards quickly, just to see her jump. 

“What’s the job?” she asks, trying to cover it, and Rio hums, moving past her to grab one of the little baggies of hard candy, twisting it over to half read the ingredients while he speaks.

“Need to pick something up,” he says. Sugar and peppermint oil and water, that’s all that’s in them. Vaguely he wonders if she’s made candies like this. Probably. For birthday parties and PTA mixers, to sell – too sweet – at fundraisers. He feels her shift beside him more than he sees it, her hands stilling on a huddle of pom pom keychains.

“Why do you need me for that?”

“Don’t need you,” he tells her flippant, tossing the bag of candy back down onto the display, just to make her jaw square. “Just think your vibe gonna hit this crowd better.”

“What ‘vibe’?”

And shit, he does look at her at that, arching an eyebrow, gaze flicking down her body, staring pointedly at her floral blouse and her mama jeans, not letting his gaze drag, because it ain’t about that - - _can’t_ be about that, but then there’s that smell again, and fuck, he thinks, tearing his gaze back to meet her own.

“You really want me to answer that?”

She rolls her eyes, shifts her weight, opens her mouth to say something, probably about needing information or some sort of schedule or whatever other bullshit he ain’t got time for, and he waits until he can see the word on the tip of her tongue, before he cuts her off.

“Finish lockin’ up, call your girls. Want you in my car in five minutes, yeah?”

And with that, he pivots, striding out of the store and back into the afternoon light.

*

“Like a - - a _campsite_ campsite?”

Rio hums in affirmation, checking the mirror, changing lanes, and shit, maybe this wasn’t his best idea. Not that the job itself _was_ – that came from higher up, which - - fuck, Rio grits his teeth, rocks forwards a little in his seat – but bringing her along? Sticking her in the backseat, her fingers inked from penning name plates all day, that smell trappin’ up in the fabric roof of his car? That was all him, at least that much he can admit. But it had made sense.

Made sense that doing a job at some basic bitch place needed a basic bitch.

Or at least someone who looked like one.

His eyes dart back up to the rear-view mirror, and he can’t exactly say he’s surprised to see her eyes there to meet him, even if she is sitting awkward behind Mick in the passenger seat. He knows she chose that side so that she could watch him in the driver’s, keep an eye on him, and it’s smart, he thinks, smarter than she usually is about this shit.

He pulls his gaze away.

“Yeah, it’s got tents, and hikin’ trails and holes to shit in and everythin’,” he says. “Probably some big ol’ campfire with a bunch o’ white kids singin’ kumbaya too.”

Beside him, Mick snorts, amused, and Rio indicates to change lanes. They still got a half hour until they’re at the lake, and the afternoon has already started to settle into something dusky, dusty, the horizon like a thumb smudge of ash in the distance. Early evening had been the plan though, he reminds himself. Get the day edging into night. Get her looking vulnerable in that way she ain’t.

“And you need me for what?” she asks, voice heavy with disbelief. “Making s’mores?”

It’s enough to make Mick’s earlier snort turn into something approaching a laugh, and Rio glares at him hard enough he quits it real quick. He leaves it a beat, two, before turning his attention back to the road ahead of him.

“Nuh, we ain’t there for that, they are.”

The mark. Eric Costello.

Some white-collar shmuck.

Shit, this ain’t the way he’d like this handled, but he told ‘em that. Told them he had a way of doing business, and that way wasn’t about this insidious shit. His way was showin’ up at Costello’s office after hours, puttin’ a gun in his mouth and gettin’ the guy spillin’ plans he couldn’t swallow no more, but no. They wanted this done _discreet_. Stealing plans and contacts off his cell so he don’t even realise they got ‘em, all while Costello kayaked on some budget holiday with his kids. 

He adjusts in his seat, jaw rocking in annoyance at the memory of those guys, his - - _bosses_ \- - he grits his teeth - - acting like this was worth his time.

Behind him, Elizabeth lets out a prim little huff of annoyance.

“And _they_ would be?”

She flicks a hand out, holds it open, waiting for an answer, and it’s Mick’s gaze who flicks to Rio, eyes searching for instruction, and when Rio nods his chin sharply, Mick twists a little in his seat, looking back at her behind him.

“Eric Costello. He’s a property developer outta Indiana with ties to some - - _former_ _associates_ of ours. We think they’re making some moves, got some plans to encroach on territory that don’t belong to them, but we just need to be sure.”

The dusk light peels through the window behind Elizabeth’s head, catches in her hair, bleeds honey blonde all through his rear-view mirror, and Rio watches her shift forwards, watches her take this information like it’s somethin’ bestowed upon her, like it’s a club membership or somehin’, face pulled all serious, like he needs her for anything more than what she looks like, and it’s enough to make him snort, to make his hands tighten on the wheel, force his gaze back on the road.

“Yeah, so you gonna get us his cell.”

It’s enough to make her jerk back a little, blink all wild at him, her eyelashes casting shadows down her cheeks.

“What for?”

“So you can bring it to me.”

“And then what?”

Rio huffs, annoyed, looks up at her in the mirror, widens his eyes and talks slow, like he’s talkin’ to some particularly dumb kid.

“Then I bug it, and you put it back.”

And sure, maybe the tone was bait, but she ain’t biting, sitting back a little in the seat as Mick twists back around to watch the road again.

“So you just want me to steal his cell phone?”

Rio rolls his eyes, big enough she can see it in the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, baby, you catchin’ on.”

With a scowl, Elizabeth folds her arms over her chest, juts her chin out defiantly in that way she thinks makes her look tough, and Rio can’t quite bite back a sharp grin as he shifts back in his seat, flipping the indicator on to take the next exit. 

“I still don’t get why you need me to do that.”

She says it quick enough, petulantly enough, that even Mick’s arching an eyebrow, and Rio feels his thigh jump a little in annoyance.

“Ain’t it your area of expertise? Stealin’ shit?” he says sharply, and he can see it on the tip of her tongue, some other line about him being one to talk, about _her business_ , so he adds: “Shootin’ sure ain’t.”

It works a charm. The way the words stutter to a stop in that big mouth of hers, the way she stares at him from the back seat, those round, doe eyes of hers glassy, and she looks down at her hands, at her bag at her feet, then away from him, out the window.

Rio turns the radio on.

*

Thing is, she ain’t wrong.

He don’t exactly need her to do it.

There’d be other ways – gettin’ one of his boys with sticky fingers pickin’ Costello’s pockets at the campsite showers, or another few to distract him with a brawl or some shit while Mick slipped into the tent and unplugged the guy’s cell from a portable charger, or hell, just takin’ the damn thing while he slept a foot away from his bird-boned trophy wife.

But this’ll work better, he tells himself.

Elizabeth playin’ all harmless, lost white lady, battin’ her eyelashes at Costello’s broad jaw, all soft curves and baby blues as she asks to borrow his phone. It’d play easy. Be _discreet_ like they all wanted this – the thought still makes his jaw twitch as his feet make slow work crossing the campground.

‘Sides. She still owes him. Still owes him _big_ so he might as well use her.

He rolls his shoulders back, hearing the crunch of his shoes on the dirt path more than the orchestra of kids and families shouting and hooting and racing around the sprawl of the campsite, more than a few splashing around in the shallows of the not-too-far-off lake.

It ain’t even a long weekend or school vacation or nothin’, but the place is packed. A sea of earth-toned tents with an all-consuming fog of acidic insect repellent that seems to do nothin’ to detract the constant buzz of fat-bellied mosquitoes. Rio bats a few from his face with a grimace.

“I can’t even remember the last time I went camping.”

The statement is dropped so suddenly, so off-hand, that Rio twists to look at Elizabeth walking beside him, and she ain’t lookin’ back, she’s lookin’ _out_ , her gaze fixed on a couple arguing over a barbeque, a handful of kids darting around them, flingin’ grass and leaves around while they suck on popsicle sticks. The melting syrup soaking into their sweaty, stained t-shirts in a way that has him crawling in his skin.

He sniffs, picks up his step, makes his gait just long enough she has to half-jog to keep up beside him. She does it though, without complaint, and for some reason that makes his skin prickle too. 

“Guess it’s probably not your thing.”

She says it lightly, off-hand too, and it’s enough to make his head whip around to face her. She _is_ lookin’ at him now, her face a little amused. She wrinkles her nose.

“Or if you do, I bet you like - - what do they call it? Glamping?”

He levels her with a look that has her biting back her own amusement, and he feels that prickle at his skin sharpen, because she ain’t exactly wrong. He don’t camp, but he’s stayed nights in luxury cabins, taken Marcus on forest retreats with clear crystal pools and wildlife tours in caddy’s or ferries.

It’s like she can see it on his face, because somethin’ smug crosses her look which just makes him squint a bit at her, rock his jaw, pick up his step, irritable that she can ever guess right about him and his, and shit, it ain’t just this.

It had been her thought too, that they separate from Mick back at the car.

Ain’t ideal, but she’d pointed out that one tatted-up gangbanger at a time was probably all this Stepford crowd could handle, and so Mick had gone to scout the East side of the campsite to find Costello’s base while Rio had gone west. And she’d fuckin’ tried it then – rambling about north like that was even an option, and Rio had jerked his head for her to follow with enough intensity, she’d dragged her feet on over to him.

Still, maybe he should’ve sent her with Mick.

“Dean and I used to go out to Haas Lake every year,” she says, tone tinged with somethin’ - - just _somethin’_ , and Rio finds his gaze on her again, even if she ain’t lookin’ back anymore. “We’d camp there for a week, go on the hayrides, see the animal shows, kayak. It was pretty fun.”

The image conjures too quick.

Elizabeth in jeans, a sweater, mud-caked sneakers, hair tied back, a smear of sunscreen at her temple, one of her kids on her hip – Jane, he thinks, as she watches the rest of ‘em race folded paper boats in whatever flurrying stream of water they can find. There’s somethin’ in it, somethin’ there, until there ain’t – until it’s Dean lumberin’ around behind her like a laid-off frat boy – until it’s his gun in her hand, her finger pullin’ the trigger –

Lung.

Spleen.

Shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” he says sharply. “Sounds like a blast. You and all them kids and that dumbass husband of yours in some family-sized tent you can’t fit in.”

He hums a little to himself, addin’ a little bounce to his step, hears the buzz again, and shit, these mosquitoes. He resists the urge to bat them away.

“Must be good practice though, yeah?”

She looks over at him properly this time, confusion rippling across her face, before he adds:

“What with you needin’ to downsize and all?”

She practically _burns_ with humiliation, and he grins, all teeth, until he feels the prick of something at his neck, smacks his hand against it, and it’s almost a relief. The tiny crumple of the mosquito’s body there, but - - huh. Pulling his hand away, he sees the splatter of blood amidst it’s twitching corpse, which means it got enough of him to leave him with a puckered bite.

He waves his hand out, hoping to dislodge it, only to catch Elizabeth staring at it. It ain’t much of a sight, but the skinny legs twist, the wings crumble, the blood sits like a smear on the palm of his hand, and her eyes glow in the dusk with what’s gotta be tears, and maybe he does know her too, because he knows she’s thinkin’ about Lucy.

Grabbing a tissue from the back pocket of his jeans, he wipes it quickly, roughly, away, and when Elizabeth picks up her pace, trying to keep a step ahead of him, he don’t try to catch up. Not until she finishes cryin’ anyway.

*

It’s dark by the time they find Costello’s campsite.

It ain’t really a surprise, just like it ain’t really one neither that it’s tucked so far away from most of the campers, to the point it practically feels like a private set-up. A tiny colony of big-ass, grey tents curved into a c-shape with Costello himself hoverin’ somewhere in the middle, chattin’ on his cell while his wife pulls croquet hoops outta the ground and packs up the mallets, the bright yellow, red, blue balls. His daughters are set up at a picnic table to the side (twin girls, freckly and bucktoothed, just knockin’ on the door of puberty), watchin’ some girl on YouTube plaster make-up on.

The site’s been set up in one of the more densely wooded areas of the campgrounds, almost directly before the start of the trail around the lake, a discreet means of not only granting them privacy, but knowin’ who’s going in and out of the park.

Costello’s got at least one guy lookin’ out for him, lurking at the edge of the site, sippin’ on a beer, checking the location about as unsubtly as Rio’s seen anyone do anything. Rio glances back at Mick – who’d found the site and texted them the coordinates – nods at the guy, and Mick jerks his chin in acknowledgement.

The movement’s enough to make Elizabeth wriggle closer from her spot behind them in the trees, tryna peer around him so that she can see what they’re lookin’ at, and Rio deliberately blocks her view.

It ain’t entirely about bein’ petty.

He just knows she’s gonna take one look at this guy and know Costello ain’t just a property developer, and then he can’t imagine it _not_ becoming a whole ass _thing_. Carefully, he nudges her back towards the mark.

“See him?” he asks, gesturing to Costello, positioning Elizabeth in a way which means she’s only lookin’ at this guy, his wife, his kids.

Elizabeth nods.

“All you gotta do is talk to him, get his cell, get it to us, and then put it back.”

Her brow furrows slightly, and she looks back up at him, her eyes bright in the dark.

“So you can bug it?”

“It’s what I said, ain’t it?”

He can tell there’s about a hundred more questions racin’ through her head, jumpin’ on her tongue, but she keeps her mouth shut for a change, looking out across the campsite, eyes locking on Costello. After a minute, she runs her hand back through her hair roughly, mussing herself up, adds to it by dropping to crouch down to the ground, grabbing some soil to rub lightly into spots on her jeans, her arms, shaking the excess off her hands. Finally, she unpops the top couple of buttons on her blouse, revealing the pale curve of her chest. Rio blinks, feels somethin’ in him warm up. He shifts his weight above her.

“Okay,” she says, and Rio’s gaze snaps back up to hers, tearin’ it away from the skin she’s just revealed, unsurprised to see the familiar determination in her look. She nods at him, good to go, before spinning on the spot and practically crawlin’ down across the wooded floor, until she’s far enough away from Rio and Mick she can tumble out without drawing attention to them.

“Oh, thank god,” she says loudly, her voice high and breathless, grabbing Costello and his wife’s attention. “I - - I - -”

She hiccups, stumbling over the words, and in seconds, the family have all rushed over to her, helping her to her feet, brushin’ leaves out of her hair (and shit, when had she done that?) and forming a small, protective shield around her. They explode with chatter, voices thick with concern as Elizabeth blubbers nonsense at them he can’t quite make out. 

“She’s pretty good at that,” Mick comments, and Rio blinks over at him, watches him watch Elizabeth lean on Costello’s arm, breathless and pretty, a liltin’ fuckin’ flower, and it’s instant, Costello’s eyes down her shirt, the way he puts an arm around to help her stand up, faux gentlemanly with his wife right fuckin’ there. Rio rocks his jaw, drops his back to the tree behind him, scuffs his toe in the dirt.

“Brought her for a reason, didn’t I?” he replies, settlin’ in to wait.

*

And it is one – a wait.

Enough the air starts to roll with the nighttime chill, prickle at his neck, leave him edgy, sniffing roughly, watching as Mick stays steady, patient, fiddling with the hilt of his gun.

It hadn’t taken long for Costello and his wife to take Elizabeth into one of the tents, so he don’t know what’s holdin’ the rest of it up. Feels himself prickling with tension at every passing minute. His boy don’t look particularly perturbed at any of it, and at one point, one of Costello’s daughters slips into the tent, and comes out chatterin’ away with her mama.

Which leaves Elizabeth alone in there with Costello. Rio sucks on his teeth, heat flicking up through his gut, ignorin’ the way Mick glances at him sideways. It ain’t dangerous, he reminds himself. Costello ain’t gonna do shit – the bougie weasel that he was, but - -

He thinks of Elizabeth, doe eyed, doin’ whatever she has to do to finish the job, and the heat already brewing in him boils red hot, laps up his veins, sets his joints stiff. He blinks and he can see it, Costello’s hand slippin’ up the back of her shirt, his eyes on her tits. He blinks and it ain’t Costello at all, it’s her dumbass husband, in a tent on their little Lake Haas vacation, which - - he blinks harder, because where the fuck had that come from?

He pushes off the tree, forces himself to look over at the tent again, away from Mick, and he’ll give her another minute, maybe two, he’ll - -

The sound rings like windchimes – her soft laughter curling out from behind one of the tent flaps, and then Costello’s bray right behind it, and all that heat boils over. 

Fuck it.

They tried it _discreet_. Those guys ain’t fuckin’ here anyway, so Rio’s gonna do it his way, reaching back for his gun, legs already starting forwards, only suddenly the tent flap opens again, and Elizabeth steps out, a picture of togetherness, smiling gratefully back at Costello, thankin’ him profusely, promising only to be a minute.

Costello nods, stepping sideways to talk to his wife again, but not without one last look at Elizabeth’s ass that sets Rio’s nerves on edge as she scurries to the edge of the campsite and a little ways up the trail, faking making a phone call. Rio nods at Mick to stay put, stepping around him and striding to meet Elizabeth up the wooded trail.

He finds her only a few feet up, talkin’ too loud to some imagined up caller, her eyes scanning the woods, clearly lookin’ for him. With a quick check of the area, he steps out, striding across the path towards her, watching as she spins on the spot, face splitting open into a proud grin as she tilts up her chin and holds out Costello’s cell. Something in his chest tightens, and when she pushes her shoulders back, her chest puffin’ up a little too-pleased in his direction, the soft curve of one of her breasts straining up into the too-open neck of her blouse, somethin’ in him snaps.

“When you gotta make it back, honey?” he asks, tone instantly cloying, and Elizabeth opens her mouth to say somethin’, probably about whatever timeline she’s imagining, when Rio adds: “A guy Costello’s age ain’t gonna stay hard for long.”

It’s enough to make her reel back like he’s slapped her, and Rio steps forward, deliberately into her space, stops a little too close to her, enough she has to tilt her neck back to look at him, and he can smell her shampoo, worse, fuck, he can smell _her_. His nostrils flare as he glares down at her.

“See, I didn’t bring you along to waste my time,” he grits out. “When I tell you to get in and get out, you do it. You don’t take a detour playin’ Desperate Housewife.”

He pointedly looks down at the buttons she’d undone earlier, and she blinks wildly at him, her eyes scanning his face, her forehead furrowed before her lip curls in resentment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I can put it back and we can see how quickly _you_ can do it,” she bites, the words harsh. “See, you _didn’t_ bring me along to waste your time, you brought me along to do what you _couldn’t_.”

Rio snarls at her, snatching the cell from her hands and twisting away, back towards the woods, yanking his own cell from his pocket and opening up the skimming app. He lines up the phones, connects the Bluetooth, and starts the upload onto Costello’s phone. He crouches down into the dirt, watching as the bug works, while Elizabeth stews in her own anger back on the path, shifting her weight and he almost misses it, so focused on the task at hand – her fingers darting up to re-do the buttons she’d undone earlier.

He rocks his jaw, focuses down on the phones, ignoring the strange twist in his gut at the thought of it. He still feels prickly, on edge, but his fury is mellowing, slowly, but surely, and he’s just gotta finish this. Gotta get the phone bugged and back in Costello’s pocket, gotta get Elizabeth back home in that big ol’ house with her dumbass husband, and then go bury himself in some other woman for a night or three. Or - - shit, he thinks, snorting to himself, three other women for a night.

Just to get the smell of her outta his nose.

Get the taste of someone else on his tongue.

“You know what?” Elizabeth says suddenly, jarringly, and Rio clenches his eyes briefly shut, hearing her start to stride towards him. “You’re the one who - - ”

There’s an unmistakable whistle through the air, then a hard, swift crack, and Rio’s breath catches, glancing up and sideways to where a bullet sits freshly lodged in one of the trees between himself and Elizabeth. He looks over at her, wild eyed, her chest heaving, and then there’s another whistle, and his phone buzzes with a message from Mick:

_He’s got more than one guy here. Run._

Rio flings Costello’s cell into the foliage (no way the fucker won’t have a tracker on it), and hauls up to his feet, grabbing Elizabeth’s wrist and propelling her forwards into the woods. She gasps, yells almost, and Rio just keeps pushin’ her, darting around trees, sticks, leaves, animal carcasses cracking beneath the weight of their steps. There are people behind ‘em, he’s sure of it now, the too-loud-quiet of Costello’s guys like a fury in the night.

Another bullet soars over them, and Elizabeth almost collapses to the ground in terror.

He grabs her by the back of her shirt, forcing her back up, shoving her forwards. Grabbing his gun from the back of his pants, he spins, catching a glimpse of a fat, pale neck in the dark, the gleam of someone else’s gun, and he shoots. There’s the thud of impact, the cuss of pain, and he turns and keeps runnin’, following Elizabeth into the darkness.

And fuck, he don’t even know where they’re goin’, what direction they’re runnin’ in, but the bullets are still flying overhead, and the thrum of the night is still too loud in his ears, and he just gotta focus. Gotta focus on gettin’ them outta here. Gotta get back to the car, then get to the pick-up point, send his prayers to whatever patron saint still talkin’ to him that Mick’ll be there to meet them. 

Bounding over a fallen tree, Rio’s head whips back behind him to see the flurry of Costello’s guys still in the distance, a building mass of darkness, practically melting into the night, camouflaged in the way they can’t be, not with Elizabeth’s pink blouse and golden hair shining bright as any flare.

Ahead of him, he can hear her starting to pant, from fear or adrenaline or exhaustion, he ain’t got time to figure out, so he shoves her forwards again, doesn’t let her slow.

“ _C’mon_ ,” he hisses at her, and Elizabeth turns back to look at him, wild eyed, and starts fumbling onwards.

“We can’t outrun them. They’re going to find us,” she whispers too-loud and breathless back, and he picks up his speed, overtakes her, grabbing her arm along the way until he’s practically hauling her along with him, forcing her to stumble as she tries to match his step. And she’s right – he _knows_ she’s right, coz it ain’t just her. Ain’t just her tryna move her mama-of-four-ass in heels through the neck of the woods – he can feel his own chest burning, his barely-healed lung sharpening in pain – and maybe he coulda done this before, and maybe he’ll be able to do it again someday, but he ain’t back at his fighting weight yet.

Which means - -

Fuck.

They’re gonna have to hide.

His eyes scan the wooded area around them, cast eerie under the yawn of the waxing moon, and the land is flat, and even where the trees are at their thickest, they ain’t thick enough to hide them. Ain’t much of anything else beyond bushes or rocks, fallen foliage with fuck knows what scrabbling amongst it, and it’s then that it hits him. He rocks his jaw, blinks hard, yanking Elizabeth sideways, ignoring her gasp of pain, her babble of confusion, as he drags her out of the clearing and up through the rolling woods.

They keep going.

Keep going and going and going, until the soil beneath their feet turns soft, squelches beneath the tread of their shoes, the mud concaving, the grass sticking, and then it’s in through the bulrushes, batting them out of the way as he strides out into the water of the lake.

The frigid dive of it settles fast in his bones, but he don’t feel it until Elizabeth sucks in a breath behind him, her body colliding into his as they stop. She clutches at his arm, then catches herself, tears her fingers away, but he don’t let her as he hears Costello’s guys start to yell in confusion. A bullet whistles past, yards away.

Rio spins to face Elizabeth, tryin’ to do it quiet enough the splash won’t echo, and he just looks at her, gestures out to the lake, then over to the other side – still lit up with the bustle of campers, the jeers of them, oblivious, drunk, on vacation.

“Swim over,” he hisses, and Elizabeth blinks wildly back at him, gazing out across the lake, her hands flailing briefly.

“And you don’t think anyone will notice us walking through the campsite soaking wet?”

Gritting his teeth, his eyes briefly scan the other side of the bank again, lookin’ for anything approaching privacy, but the campers pour into every crevice, plant themselves in every vacant bed.

The steps of Costello’s boys sound louder, closer, and it’s Elizabeth’s head who whips around to face ‘em, just like it’s Elizabeth who finally takes the plunge, sinking into the stagnant water of the lake until it’s lappin’ at her chest. She trembles, freezin’, but keeps her mouth shut, and Rio sucks on his teeth to stop them from chatterin’ too as he pulls himself deeper into the water behind her.

“There,” he says after a minute, gesturing to a small spot on the other side of the lake, right at the edge of the campsite. It ain’t empty, but there’s less people, and Elizabeth nods, wobbly, before she sucks in a breath, dips her head into the water and finally starts to swim.

The blanket of night settles low across them, and Rio watches Elizabeth disappear beneath it, her golden hair, her pale skin luminous enough beneath the shimmer of water to look like nothin’ more than the moon’s shifting reflection. He sucks in a breath, his chest already aching, the frigid water clawing at him, scrubs a hand over the back of his head, and finally dives beneath the water and swims.

*

Thing is, he wasn’t entirely lying when he told Turner about the beach.

Maybe lying about wantin’ it now, but there was a time when he had. Shit, he still remembers the first vacation he ever took, the first plane ticket he could ever buy himself, the first hotel room, the first night off. Still remembers pullin’ up somewhere in LA, curling his toes in the sand, remembers the women, the drinks, the early mornin’ swimming. Remembers the ocean rolling around him, the rip tryna pull him out, the tide tryna push him in, remembers that feeling of certainty, of strength, of knowin’ he could ride it, knowin’ that he couldn’t control it, but he could control himself, always, and that’d give him the power to swim through whatever bullshit life threw his way.

But - -

Fuck, he don’t feel in control now.

He dips his head up for air, grimacing when he swallows some of the lake water in the process. He looks ahead to the shore at where a few drunk frat boys wobble into a kayak, watches one throw a beer can at another, the liquid spilling out through the air in an imperfect curve. He pauses, treading water, looking back around the other side of the lake at where Costello’s guys should be, and he can see ‘em, still walkin’ through the woods, moving like a pack, like guerrillas, only it ain’t in their direction no more.

They’ve lost them.

Rio exhales, turns as the water lulls, not through any sorta tide, but through the kick of Elizabeth’s long legs ahead of him. He watches her briefly, her body almost graceful in its gracelessness, her feet pale arches – she must’ve kicked off her shoes, gotten rid of the dead weight of them – and he waits until her head bobs up, to hear her suck in a breath, to dip his own head back below the water and swim ahead of her.

*

Elizabeth stumbles.

He catches her in time, stops her tumblin’ back into the lake, but it only serves to knock ‘em both sideways, staggering among the thicket of bulrushes that clutch the edges.

“C’mon,” he grunts lowly, trying to get his bearings on the shore as he yanks her up by the back of her shirt. She’s almost a deadweight in his grip, her chest heaving, her skin paler than it usually is, even in the dark, and shit, he really ain’t got the energy for this. Not with the way his own body’s throbbing. “Elizabeth, _move_.”

“I _am_ ,” she insists a little wetly, and it ain’t nothin’, but something about hearing her talk, hearing her snap, helps him find his grip. He pulls them both up and out, shaking his legs to get some of the excess water off (a fool’s errand for both of ‘em, but at least it hides how much his skin is twitchin’ as he shivers).

They’ve somehow managed to pull themselves out of the lake in the tiniest patch of parkland without people. The nearest bein’ some borderline geriatric couple drunkenly making out, oblivious, against one of the trees a few feet away, and Rio keeps them low, turning back to look at Elizabeth who looks - - well.

He snorts, unable to help it, only more amused when Elizabeth levels him with a furious glare.

Drowned rat’d be an understatement – what with her hair soaked, tangled, stickin’ to her make-up smeared face. The muscles in her neck are jumpin’, twitchin’, her blouse glued to her breasts in a way that don’t leave much to the imagination (not that there’s much left of her body Rio has to imagine anymore), and her jeans are hangin’ lower than they should, heavy with water.

Before he can even open his mouth to say anythin’ about it though, Elizabeth has a hand in his face.

“Don’t - - just - -”

She trembles, in anger or exhaustion or cold or some combination of all of it, he doesn’t know, so he nods, huffs out a breath, gesturing with one hand for her to turn around and start walkin’.

And at least she does.

It takes ‘em longer than he’d like to find their way back to the car. Not just because they’re both disoriented from the night, but outta sorts with their internal maps, comin’ at it from new angles. In no small part too, because Elizabeth’s smothering her yelps every time she stands on rocks or sticks, her bare feet bleeding in a way that almost has him gettin’ her up over his shoulder – would, maybe, if he felt it would end in anythin’ other than a fight and both of ‘em on their asses. They creep out through the back of the campsite instead, down through the parking lot, and then down the road to the hidden enclave where he’d left the G Wagon.

And just - - shit.

No Mick.

He rubs a hand furiously over the back of his head, grabbing his cell outta his jean pocket, grimacing at the blank screen. He tries to turn it on, but it don’t work, so he strides wetly towards the trunk of his car instead, nervy with energy. He stops smart though when he sees Elizabeth tiptoe her aching, filthy, bleeding feet over to the passenger seat of the car and reach for the door. He holds up a hand at her to stop her.

“Nuh-uh,” he says quickly, voice hoarse as he opens the trunk with his free hand, drops his cell onto the surface there, and Elizabeth spins, blinking owlishly back at him.

“What?”

“You ain’t gettin’ in my car,” he tells her sharply, grabbing his bag out and gesturin’ at her with it. “You think I want your wet ass sittin’ in there? Gettin’ the whole fuckin’ thing smellin’ like that.”

He throws a hand out behind him at where the campsite sits, and Elizabeth stares at him, flounders briefly, glowering.

“You think you smell any better than me right now?” she hisses, and Rio rolls his eyes at her, dropping his bag to the grass and toeing out of his shoes. His socks squelch with lake water, and he almost bites off his tongue fightin’ the urge to shudder. He yanks them off, tossing them aggressively into the bushes. “Because last I checked, you swam through that lake just like me, and contrary to what _you_ seem to believe - - I - - _what are you doing_?”

Rio glances up at her, where she’s rounded the car to stand opposite him, her eyes fixed wide on his hands as he pulls his belt off through the belt loops and tosses it into the still-open trunk of his car.

“What’s it look like?”

He grabs the bag at his feet, pulling out a spare pair of jeans, boxer briefs, a t-shirt and a button-down.

Elizabeth just blinks at him.

“You keep spare clothes in your car?”

Rolling his eyes, he reaches for the button on his jeans, poppin’ it, before yanking down his fly, shoving the pants down his legs. He kicks them off, watching Elizabeth pointedly avoid starin’ at his bare, shivering legs under the bright yellow glow of the trunk light. 

“Yeah, darlin’, need ‘em sometimes for evenin’ swims, or when some bitch puts three slugs in me.”

It’s enough to make Elizabeth stare at him, her mouth twisting into a grimace like it always does when he brings that shit up, but he can’t say it ain’t satisfying. He runs his hands down his legs, flicking off any excess water still clinging to his leg hair, while Elizabeth trembles with cold in front of him.

“Well, do you have anything for me to wear?”

He jerks his head up, stares at her in disbelief for a second, before smoothin’ his expression over, painting on a big, fake grin.

“Oh yeah, ‘course, baby. Just gimme a minute. I’m sure I got a JC Penney bag in here somewhere, tucked up behind my picnic basket and my box o’ fuckin’ yarn.”

She scowls at him then, jaw rockin’ forward in that way he don’t think she did before she met him, and he snorts, unamused, reaching down to shove off his underwear right as she suddenly scurries forwards and snatches up the t-shirt from the pile of clothes between them.

The squeak she makes when she finds herself with her head practically in his naked crotch would almost be worth it if he wasn’t so fixated watchin’ her try to scramble up not just his t-shirt, but _all_ his dry clothes. He moves after her, but she’s fuckin’ quick, scurrying back and out of reach.

“You really wanna play it that way, mama?” he asks, gritting his teeth as he watches her pull all the clothes against her soaking wet chest and wobble backwards, even further away from him. His fingers twitch, half a mind to surge forwards and wrestle them away from her, but he’s exhausted and half fuckin’ naked, and she’s - - _unpredictable_.

Last thing he needs is her tearin’ off with them into the night.

Elizabeth dips a hand into the pile in her arms, organising them just enough to pull out his dry underwear and tiptoe forwards again to hold them out to him. She turns her face away, like _see? No peeking_.

He bites back a snarl as he snatches them out of her fingers, yanking them on, and shit - - he should’ve tried to get more of the water off himself. Can already feel his wet ass soaking through the dry underwear.

When she’s sure he has them on, she turns her head around, looking through the clothes still in her arms, and Rio just stares at her, jaw rocking, almost breathless with his own fury at her, when suddenly she gives him back his jeans too.

He squints at her, and she’s flush cheeked now, haughty.

“They’re not going to fit me,” she says, still offering them, and Rio blinks over at her, watches her flail for a minute. “You don’t exactly have - - I mean - - I have an ass.”

He pops an eyebrow at that, and she shrugs almost apologetically, but fuck, he thinks, snatching them off her and jerking them on.

“Got them tits too,” he tells her too sweetly. “You think my button down gonna cover up all that body?”

It’s enough to make her scowl, shift her weight, and then she offers him that too, because shit, even she gotta know his stiff, narrow shirts ain’t gonna come close to closing around her chest.

It leaves her with just the t-shirt, and Rio watches as she uncurls it, stares at it, then over at him, and he just grins, sharkish, at her, doing up his jeans, before starting to unbutton his soaked shirt.

“So I can change my shirt,” she says, and Rio nods, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, you ain’t gettin’ in my car in those jeans though.”

She flushes at him, and Rio shrugs.

“Ain’t nothin’ I ain’t seen before,” he reminds her, and Elizabeth grits her teeth, but finally nods, tossing the t-shirt over her shoulder. She reaches down to shove off her soaking wet jeans, revealing miles of snowy skin, tremblin’ with the cold. He lets himself look. Lets himself watch her shimmy her way out of them, the bright fleck of her mint-green panties visible below the hem of her blouse. She blinks over at him, watching him finish unbuttoning his shirt, and thing is, he don’t even think about it as he shrugs it off, not until her eyes zero in on the scars on his chest. He pauses, mouth suddenly dry right as her eyes get wet.

He hardens his jaw, dries himself as best he can before grabbing the clean button down, covering his chest back up right as Elizabeth turns her back to him, shrugging out of her pink blouse, so all he can see is the smooth curve of her back and the thick beige band of her bra.

She dries herself too, before rubbing off her make-up as best she can with her wet blouse, then pulls on his t-shirt quickly, and it’s long on her, but not quite long enough to cover the curve of her pale ass, hangin’ out the bottom of it, and somethin’ in him twitches in a way that makes him avert his gaze. He sniffs, loud, gathering up their wet clothes from the ground and tossing them into the trunk of his car, grabbing his cell, jerking his head around when she turns to face him, and shit - -

Her wet bra is already soaking through his shirt, adding to the strain of the fabric over her tits, and Rio grunts, annoyed, snatching her clothes out of her hands and pushing them into the trunk too. He thrusts his chin out towards the front.

“Get in,” he tells her, and Elizabeth thankfully does.

*

He should’ve put her in the back again.

Didn’t have the headspace to even think it as they clambered back into the car to get to the pick-up point, but it just - - ain’t fuckin’ _good_ , havin’ her beside him, all bare thighs and straining t-shirt and scrap of mint-green cotton, preening a little beneath the car heater. Her fingers are constantly twitchin’ at the hem of his shirt, tryna pull it down to cover herself, like it’s doin’ anything but drawing attention to it, doin’ anything but reminding him of the electric blue panties burnin’ a hole through his bedside table at home. (Fuck, he’d tried to get rid of them, he _had_ ).

He sniffs, rocks up in his seat, awkward, drums his fingers on the steering wheel, pretends he don’t see her glancin’ sideways at him every few minutes as they drive the narrow roads away from the campsite.

This whole fuckin’ night.

Cooked, he thinks, jaw rocking. If they’d just been happy to let him do it _his_ way, none of this woulda happened. He wouldn’t have had to bring Elizabeth in in the first place, wouldn’t have had to watch her play coy with a guy like Costello, wouldn’t have had her bitchin’ and moanin’ at him in the woods, wouldn’t be here now, sittin’ beside him half-naked.

At the thought, his eyes dart over again, fix on the little mound of her green panties, and just - - he grits his teeth, bites back a feral laugh, as his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

The pick-up point ain’t far at least – only a few miles outta the way. An off-road spot hidden behind a canopy of Northern Red Oak Trees, and he pulls the car in behind them, settles it into a park and sits back in his seat.

Briefly, he pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes, blinking hard, before he unclips his seatbelt, and reaches over to grab his cell from the cup holder. He tries turnin’ it on again, grunting in annoyance when the screen don’t light up. He reaches for the glove compartment instead, leaning over Elizabeth’s legs, ignoring her sharp intake of breath (maybe ignorin’ his own too) and grabbing his portable phone charger out. He throws it on, then drops it onto his leg, watchin’ the screen, waitin’ for the light to tell him the thing’s even charging.

“It’s not going to work.”

Rio jerks his head up to find Elizabeth looking at him. She shrugs, nods at his phone, tries for a sort of half smile. 

“Annie’s always dropping her phone in things. Trust me, anything deeper than a glass of water - - they’re just not built for it.”

And shit, he knows she’s right, but he ain’t sure his online backup would’ve synced in time, which means the bug on Costello’s cell – if it had even properly uploaded – is useless. He hits the phone screen more aggressively, just fuckin’ _willing_ it to start, and Elizabeth huffs out a breath above him.

“Yeah, hitting it is _really_ going to help.”

His head darts up to glower at her, and Elizabeth just glowers right back, waving a hand at him, and without it holdin’ the hem of the shirt down, the thing only rides up, enough he can see the tiny bow right at the top of her panties. Somethin’ in him _twitches_.

“Don’t you have a back-up plan, anyway?”

“Don’t you?” he snips back at her, petty, and she scowls at him, her chest flushing red above the neckline of his t-shirt.

“You know what?” she says, mouth pulled into a sneer. “I _could’ve_ had a back-up plan if you’d actually bothered to tell me about this whole thing instead of just showing up at my job and having me drop everything to run around after you.”

It’s enough to make Rio snort on a laugh, tossing his busted cell back down into the cupholder, twisting his body sideways in his seat so he can rest one elbow on the back of his chair, the other on the steering wheel, webbing his fingers in between as he stares at her.

“Yeah, see, that’s kinda one o’ the perks of bein’ the boss, darlin’. You remember, right? Back when you thought you were one?”

She stares right on back at him, breathless for a minute, before she twists, briefly tanglin’ up in her seatbelt, enough it practically cups her breasts in a way that shoots hot through him, before she manages to release the seatbelt and fumble out of it. Her rage propellin’ her forwards.

“Those are _big_ words for somebody who really managed to screw tonight up. You have no phone, you lost your boy, _and_ you managed to give us away. So good job, _Mr CEO_ , have fun justifying that to your board of directors.”

It’s quick, how much the heat in him fans into somethin’ white hot. He licks his teeth, drops his chin forwards towards her, unwebs his thumbs just enough to point at himself.

“ _I_ screwed up tonight? Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich, darlin’ - -”

“Yeah, _you_ \- - ” she tries to interrupt, but he won’t let her. He leans forwards in his chair, the tension inside him pulling taut.

“Nuh, see, I ain’t the one who gave us away in there. I ain’t the one wastin’ time battin’ my lashes at the guy I’m supposed to be workin’,” she reels back at that, her head shakin’, confused, and she can’t be, because she was - - “Fallin’ sideways on his - - ”

“What are you _talking_ about?” she hisses, not letting him finish, and Rio just laughs, sucks in his bottom lip, before he levels her with the coldest look he can manage with her (and shit, it ain’t ever cold enough).

“What I’m talkin’ about is you scrappin’ around for attention wherever you can find it, coz that dumbass husband of yours can’t tell you apart from his mother.”

Somewhere outside of the car, he can still hear the echoes of the campsite, the whiz and the crack of fireworks, the thrum of cicadas. The hot gust of air from the car’s heating buzzes at his skin, circulates the smell of stagnant lake water and that too-sweet one that’s just _her_ , and he watches the shock on her face shift into a bright and naked fury. 

“You do not know the _first thing_ about my marriage,” she says, her voice low and tight, and Rio just _laughs_ , rocking his jaw forwards because that’s fuckin’ _rich_.

“Oh, I don’t?”

“No, you don’t,” she grits out. “It might come as a _shock_ to you, but there is a lot you don’t - - ”

“Know you fucked me on a date with him,” he interrupts. “Know you fucked me in his bed.”

“ _My_ bed,” she hisses, and she drops her hands to the bottom of his shirt again, fiddlin’ in that way she does around him now, and his eyes dart down, and he has to tear ‘em back up to meet hers. “And we weren’t on a date. I was - - we were - - _working_.”

It’s enough to make him laugh for real that time, bark it out in disbelief, dropping his head forwards as he nods, pursing his lips before sitting back in his seat.

“Oh, so it’s _work_ that gets you hot? Okay.”

He loads his expression with condescension, and Elizabeth balks at him, pushes herself back, her chest out, and his eyes dart there again, at the wet, straining, t-shirt, and the curve of her, and she’s still fiddlin’ with the hem of it and his eyes dart down there too, and he ain’t sure if it’s the conversation, or the memories, or just all her fuckin’ skin, but suddenly he can taste her.

Taste that too-sweet thing like honey on his tongue, coating his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Can smell it too, can just - - can _feel_ it on him, on her, and she yanks down the shirt again, and he sees her fingers ghost across her cunt as she rocks her hips forward, like she’s gettin’ herself in a position to yell at him, but it just reminds him of her riding his cock, and just - -

“Can you _stop_?” he hisses, flingin’ a hand out to grab her wrist before he can stop himself, yanking her hand away so his shirt bounces up, and he has to jerk his gaze away from _that_ , but it just means he ends up lookin’ at _her_. At her too-blue eyes and her flutterin’ blonde eyelashes and her wide, plump mouth, and her face, now marred with confusion. Her gaze darts over to where his hand circles her thin wrist, and he can feel her pulse racing there, and he knows it ain’t in fear.

“Stop what?” she asks, her voice a little too soft, and he practically bites his tongue off with his own frustration, and he sees it, the moment she realises. Somethin’ in her shifts. She tugs her wrist back, the one he’s holdin’, pullin’ him closer, and he should let go, he should really, really let go.

But then she jerks her wrist back again, further this time, and he follows her, practically draping himself over the center console. The blood is rushing in his ears, and he watches her lips part, wet, watches her throat bob as she swallows, watches her free hand reach up to circle his other wrist.

He doesn’t know which one of them closes the gap.

Just knows that when they do, it’s softer than it should be.

He deepens it quickly, surging forwards until he feels her back hit the car door behind her, feels her free hand drop his wrist to grab his head, tugging his ear on the way before she strokes her nails down through the buzz of his hair. Her lips part, and he pushes his tongue into her mouth, findin’ hers there to meet him, and it ain’t right - -

He never had a sweet tooth before her.

Elizabeth keens in his grip, pushes her chest into his, her wet bra soaking through his shirt, and his free hand slips over her legs, engulfs her too-smooth thighs, before pushing up below the side of her panties, slippin’ around to palm at her freezin’ cold ass. He hauls her up a little, just because he can, just so she can feel it, how easily he can move her, and she moans, finally tugging her wrist out of his grip to sling it over his neck, to palm, awkward at his back. Shifting, he feels his cock, uncomfortably hard in his jeans, and he has to lean back, to adjust himself with his free hand, and when he looks back, she’s staring at him, wide, wild eyed, unblinking, and somethin’ ricochets through him, and he don’t know why, but he has to _say it_ again.

“You shot me,” he hisses at her, and Elizabeth don’t get that grimace like she usually gets, don’t harden either, just says:

“You kidnapped me.”

Which - - yeah, he thinks, the thought tightening, because he did, but nothin’ else was fuckin’ happenin’, not after - -

“You _quit_ me.”

His voice is hoarser than he intends, harsher, rawer, and it’s enough that her eyes widen, her mouth hangs open, and when she says: “I didn’t want to,” her own voice is small.

The words hang for a minute, and all he can hear is the hum of the heater and the heavy pants of their breaths between them, and it’s more than want that he feels, he knows it’s more than that, but at least the want is a monster they can feed.

“Get in the back.”

She wets her lips, wriggles out of his grip, and he has to physically pull himself back to give her the room to scramble over the center console into the backseat, his body thrumming with energy. She slips a bit, awkward in her climb, and he just - - he can’t wait, impatient, his need for her too much. She’s barely got her hand on the backseat to crawl over when he shoves the t-shirt roughly up her back, unhooking her bra in one neat, easy motion. She gasps, falling forwards as she tries to catch herself, and Rio grabs the back of her shirt, holdin’ her up while climbing over himself.

She rolls over on the backseat to meet him, her legs already spreadin’ to make room for him, and he settles easily in between them, leaning down to mouth at her neck, hand reaching for the hem of the shirt and yankin’ it up, takin’ her unhooked bra with it, and just - -

He groans, unable to help himself.

Her tits ain’t like nobody else’s – full and round, so white every vein runs like a river through ‘em, her nipples so pink they look like a treat, and he lowers his head to suck on one before he can stop himself, his free hand comin’ up to palm at the other.

Vaguely he can hear her yip above him, keen, and he grazes his teeth along her nipple before draggin’ his wet lips along the mound of her breast, over to the other. She squirms beneath him and it feels like a dream.

Her nails rake down his head, scratch at his neck, and he ain’t sure how this happened, her in her panties in the backseat. Wet and open for him, and all he wants is to be inside her, coz shit, she lives inside him, and he needs her to feel that too. As soon as the thought hits, he sits back a little, grabbing at his pants, startin’ to pull them off, and Elizabeth just watches him, wet mouthed, and he jerks his chin at her.

“Touch yourself,” he tells her, and Elizabeth stares up at him, her eyes big, unblinkin’, and it takes her a minute, to wriggle her hand across herself and slip it into her panties. He sees the motion of it – her knuckles distinct beneath the thin mint cotton, can see the soft effect of her fingers circlin’ her clit, and he shakes his head.

“Nuh, mama, not like that.”

He jerks his chin up, wantin’ her to get the hint, and she does, flushing as she dips her hand lower, pushin’ a finger inside herself.

Kicking off his jeans, he shoves down his underwear too, and makes quick work of unbuttoning is shirt, his eyes not leaving the subtle press of Elizabeth’s hands in her panties, the shift as she buries her fingers inside herself, her gaze hot and unblinking on his. It only even lowers when he finally shrugs out of his shirt, and her eyes trace the scars she’s given him, her breath stuttering, her wet lips parting, and she looks away, her face twisting in grief.

It’s enough to make him close the distance again, clambering over her on all fours, droppin’ a hand between them to cup the back of her hand through her panties.

“Keep goin’,” he tells her, leaning in to brush his lips across her cheek, nose his way to her ear. “Deep as you can, yeah?”

She sucks in a breath, squirms underneath him, her hips archin’ up into his as she buries her fingers deeper, and he watches for another minute, tryin’ to temper the heat coursing through him, before he grabs the backs of her legs, hauls them up until her calves are slung over his shoulders, her still-bleeding feet hitting the roof of the car as he presses his hard cock against the back of her pantie-covered hand.

Moaning, she flails back, moving to take her hand out, and he shakes his head.

“What’d I say?” he hums, energy crackling through his body as he leans down to kiss her, foldin’ her in half in the process. He swallows her moan, holds it in his chest, gut, _feels_ it, and shit, he thinks, restless with desire, it ain’t right. What she does to him.

He hooks a finger in the edges of her panties, yanking them down over the swell of her ass, swallowin’ her hitched breath too before finally shifting back enough to pull them off the rest of the way. He tosses them to the floor and then he just - -

Looks at her.

Takes in every soft, long, pale, twisting inch of her.

Some Madonna in the mornin’ and a nymph at night, don’t matter, she always leans fey, leans into otherworldly, leans into somethin’ he wants to kneel at the feet of and worship, somethin’ he wants to catch in his hand and lay out in his bed, and fuck, he knows he could lose hours, days, years in the curve of her breast and the crease of her thigh.

Could lose forever in her lips.

Somethin’ more in her cunt.

He exhales roughly, brushin’ a finger over her lips to trail down her neck, palms her breast, before ghosting his hand over her stomach, down to cup her hand again, only this time, he tilts it gently aside, before coaxing his own finger into her.

And shit, he wets his lips, shifts his weight, feels her try to pull her own fingers out, and he shakes his head quickly.

“Nuh, keep ‘em in,” he tells her, watches the confusion, then the heat in her look, feels her knuckles graze the back of his inside her, and he shudders out a breath, pushing his own fingers deeper.

Her breath hitches, and she squirms – up first, then sinks down on his hand, and Rio shifts above her, pushes his finger deeper, then adding another to meet it.

She’s hot around him, flutterin’, and he exhales hoarsely, losing himself in the tight, wet heat of her. Could lose himself entirely if she didn’t keep deliberately brushin’ their fingers inside her, and he just fucks her harder with his in response. She gasps, and Rio catches the sound in his head. Holds it close.

“Can’t you feel it?” he hums, hoarse, looking down at her. “How much deeper I go?”

Elizabeth blinks up at him, eyes glazed, her hips tiltin’ against his hand, her lips wet.

He thinks of her.

He thinks of her and his husband, and his fingers crook, somethin’ furious again tightening in him, he thinks of her layin’ three bullets in him and presses in closer.

“We ain’t the same,” he hisses, and Elizabeth bucks her hips. “You think you can do it without me, you can’t.”

She stares up at him, panting, the hand not buried inside herself grasping, clamping hard on his shoulder.

“I _did_ though,” she tells him, unblinking. She wets her lips, eyes tracing over his face, her cunt clenching around their fingers, and she snarls when she says: “I don’t need you.”

And he thinks of her at home in that bed with him and he thinks of her makin’ his money, thinks of her hittin’ up guys to wash it when it was still hers, guys she had no business hittin’ up, he thinks of her tellin’ him how much he needs her, in coffee shops, outside warehouses, in her backyard, outside of Paper Porcupine, he thinks of _her_ , and he pulls his fingers outta her, her fingers too, lines up his cock and thrusts in in one long, quick stroke.

It’s hard enough she lets out a little choked noise, right next to his ear, and he grins sharply, does it again so that _she_ does it again, only this time she just sorta keens, her voice all high and breathless in a way that burns him up.

“Yeah, you do,” he hisses against her ear, biting at the corner of her jaw, and she scratches her hand roughly down his scalp, digs her nails into the back of his neck in a way that stutters his hips. “It won’t ever feel as good without me. You won’t ever _be_ as good without me.”

Suddenly he’s kicked backwards, almost over, the force of her legs on his shoulders harder than it should be. It tugs at his cock, changes the angle of him inside her in a way that makes them both gasp, and she palms at his chest and shit, he don’t even think she means it, but the heel of her hand presses into the scar on his chest, the one that she gave him, the one that nicked at his lung, and he makes a noise he didn’t know he could make. He grabs her wrists, shoves them up above her head, puts them in one hand and repositions himself over her.

He pulls his cock the whole way out then pushes back in, hard enough she moans loud in pleasure, enough her tits bounce in a way he can’t take his eyes off, so he does it again, and again, thrusting roughly into her, her breasts bouncing with each movement, and he palms at one with his free hand before dropping it to circle her clit.

Only then he’s yanked suddenly forwards, her legs havin’ twisted somehow around his waist, and she’s pulled him so hard into her his face practically crashes down onto hers and then they’re kissing. Her lips too soft, so sweet, and he’s openin’ his mouth for her when she bites his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste of pennies drips between their lips, coats their teeth, but it don’t matter, because all he can taste is her.

Vaguely he’s aware of the passenger side door being opened and then promptly closed again, and she must hear it too, because she laughs against his lips and she clenches around him, her walls fluttering and it’s too quick then, the way he comes inside her. He pinches her clit roughly, and then she’s toppling over the edge behind him.

It takes a minute to find his breath.

Takes a minute to remember himself. To find his legs, his skin, to do anythin’ that ain’t kiss her, open mouthed and bloody, to do anything that ain’t let himself soften inside her, outside her and just - -

Fuck.

He slips out, her soft, gentle exhale as he does it somethin’ that he knows is gonna play on repeat in his head, and he sits back and looks at her. Her lips are red with his blood, her skin pale, bruising already with hickies he barely remembers suckin’ onto her. She sits up a little, rubs at her wrists, and shit, had he been holdin’ onto them that hard?

With a sniff, she reaches for her bra, puts it on, and then looks in the seat pockets for tissues, and he thinks about her at home, pretendin’ like this never happened, like they ain’t what they are, like she did the first time, like the second, and suddenly he’s grabbing her panties off the floor of the car and then her ankles, pulling her down towards him as he slides them up her legs and on again. She blinks at him in surprise and he leans over her, cups her cunt hard, until he can feel both their orgasms leaking out of her, soaking the thin cotton of her panties.

“Wear these tonight, yeah?” he says, watching something hot uncurl on her face. “In bed with your husband.”

He crooks a finger, pushing the cotton almost inside her, and Elizabeth don’t nod, but she leans up suddenly, presses a finger to his bottom lip, dips a sharp nail into the bite she’s left there and he twitches back before surging forwards again to suck on her finger, graze his teeth down her knuckle. Her own lips fall open, her eyes glazed, her chest heaving, and his cock twitches again for her, and shit, when does it fuckin’ _end_? The wanting her?

He tugs at her wrist with the hand not occupied with her cunt, moving to replace her finger with her lips, when there’s a short, sharp knock on the window.

They both jerk up, the moment snapping between them.

“Done yet?”

Mick’s voice is unmistakable, and somewhere in him there’s relief the guy’s alright, but it’s hard to find the feelin’ when Elizabeth’s warm and soft beneath him. He exhales, rocks his jaw, and finally nods.

“Yeah, man, gimme a minute.”

They dress quickly after that, and Rio climbs out of the backseat, leaves Elizabeth in their alone tryin’ to smooth down her hair, and Mick slides into the passenger seat, nodding slightly like he ain’t seen nothin’. Like the car don’t smell like sex and lake water and Elizabeth. Like she ain’t sittin’ behind them in soiled panties and not much else.

Rio flicks on the radio.

*

The car slows to a stop outside of Elizabeth’s dollhouse, and she makes quick work of gatherin’ up her things, even leanin’ across into the trunk to grab her wet clothes and Rio don’t even watch. Just looks at his hands on the steering wheel, runs his thumb along the base of it, thinkin’ about what’s left to do tonight, how to answer to who he’s gotta answer to, doin’ everything he can _not_ to think about the backseat of his car.

She slips out, and Rio drops his hand to the gear stick, ready to start again when there’s a quick rap of knuckles at his window. He winds it down to be met with Elizabeth on the sidewalk. Poppin’ his eyebrow in question, she shifts her weight for a minute, debating somethin’ internally, before apparently deciding just to say it.

“It won’t ever feel as good for you without me either,” she tells him, and he blinks at her, watching as she squares her shoulders, like she ain’t standin’ on her street right now covered in hickies in just his shirt and her panties. Like they ain’t what they are. Like any part of her bein’ in his life has been anything less than a colossal fuckin’ disaster.

“Go to bed, Elizabeth,” he says, rolling his eyes and winding up his window. He pulls the car off the street, but his eyes flick up, watching her in the rear-view mirror, watching him drive away.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Amy Shark song 'Drive You Mad'.
> 
> A big ol' thanks to foxmagpie for her help, and constant encouragement, without which this probably never would've been finished.


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